‘Me, Auntie!’ Hypocrisy is a fine art.
‘Yes! yes, Stephen. Oh! my dear child, what is this I hear about your going to Petty Sessions with your father?’
‘Oh, that! Why, Auntie dear, you must not let that trouble you. It is all right. That is necessary!’
‘Necessary!’ the old lady’s figure grew rigid and her voice was loud and high. ‘Necessary for a young lady to go to a court house. To hear low people speaking of low crimes. To listen to cases of the most shocking kind; cases of low immorality; cases of a kind, of a nature of a—a—class that you are not supposed to know anything about. Really, Stephen! . . . ’ She was drawing away her hand in indignation. But Stephen held it tight, as she said very sweetly:
‘That is just it, Auntie. I am so ignorant that I feel I should know more of the lives of those very people!’ Miss Laetitia interrupted:
‘Ignorant! Of course you are ignorant. That is what you ought to be. Isn’t it what we have all been devoting ourselves to effect ever since you were born? Read your third chapter of Genesis and remember what came of eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.’
‘I think the Tree of Knowledge must have been an orange tree.’ The old lady looked up, her interest aroused:
‘Why?’
‘Because ever since Eden other brides have worn its blossom!’ Her tone was demure. Miss Rowly looked sharply at her, but her sharpness softened off into a smile.
‘H’m!’ she said, and was silent. Stephen seized the opportunity to put her own case: